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Shakspere. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
Shakspere. 1.-Why give you me this shame? Think you I can a resolution fetch From flow'ry tenderness? If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, And hug it in my
grave Did utter forth a voice.
These two are brethren, Adam, and to come
Beaumont and Fletcher. 1.-He is my brother.
2.—The more doubted; For hatred hatched at home is a tame tiger, May fawn and sport, but never leave his nature. The jars of brothers, two such mighty ones, Are like a small stone thrown into a river, The breach scarce heard; but view the beaten current, And you shall see a thousand angry rings Rise in his face, still swelling and still growing; So jars circle in distrusts; distrusts breed dangers, And dangers death (the greatest extreme) shadow, Till nothing bound 'em but the shore—their graves.
Beaumont and Fletcher.
Assailed by scandal and the tongue of strife,
Then gently scan thy brother man.
Burns. A happy bit hame this auld warld wad be, If men, whan they're here, would make shift to agree, And ilk said to his neebor in cottage an' ha', “Come gie me your hand, we are brethren a'.”
Robert Nicol. I care not whence come you, or where you may dwell,
In the east or the west, or the south, or the north; Be thy skin of the darkest, thy home in the fell,
I care not, I only know manhood and worth; Then thy hand, brother man, and oh, let us prove, Whose heart is the strongest in brotherly love.
J. B. Syme.
My breast is not unsullied now,
Cut their deep furrows on my brow:
And life will take a darker liue,
And bound and linked my heart with others;
As mine was blended with my brother's?
The spring of life's unclouded weather,
My brother, grew in love together:
1.—Methinks was never pair So linked in love as we are! We should have been
brothers! 2.-And we are so!-are we not? The worth of birth is but the right to love. We love as well as brothers, do we not, Without that right?--what are we then but brothers? Come you to flesh and bloodP—as all mankind Had but one parentage, in the great first, All flesh and blood are one! Sheridan Knowles.
A brother! Oh, that thrilling name,
BROW. Thou fair star, that I live by, Look lovely on me, break into full brightness! Look! here's a face now of another making, Another mould; here's a divine proportion! Eyes, fit for Phæbus' self, to gild the world with, And there's a brow arch'd like the state of heaven; Look, how it bends, and with what radiance; As if the synod of the gods sat under! Look there and wonder. Beaumont and Fletcher.
In her face, Though something touched by sorrow, you may trace The all she was, when first in life's young spring, Like the gay bee-bird on delighted wing, She stooped to cull the honey from each flower That bares its breast in joy’s luxuriant bower! O'er her pure forehead, pale as moonlit snow, Her ebon locks are parted; and her brow Stands forth like morning from the shades of night, Serene, though clouds hang over it.
Alaric A. Watts.
Milton. Then to subdue and quell through all the earth Brute violence, and proud tyrannic power.
Milton. The brute philosopher, who ne'er has proved The joy of loving, or of being loved.
Pope. Contented with an humble theme, I pour my stream of panegyric down The vale of Nature, where it creeps and winds Among her lovely works with a secure And unambitious course reflecting clear, If not the virtues, yet the worth of brutes.—Cowper.
GIVE me leave to wonder, A building of so goodly a proportion, Outwardly all exact, the frame of heaven, Should hide within so base inhabitants. You are as fair as if the morning bore you; Imagination never made a sweeter! Can it be possible this frame should suffer, And built on slight affections, fright the viewer? Be excellent in all, as you are outward, The worthy mistress of these many blessings Heaven has bestowed. Beaumont and Fletcher.
Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, flies;
But fore-accounting oft makes builders miss;
Sir P. Sidney.
Her wings with lengthened honour let her spread, And by her greatness show her builder's fame.—Pope.
Here the architect
Carew. View not this spire by measure given
To buildings raised by common hands: